Love of the Loveless
by super trooper
Summary: He was just Ron and he was just the boy who sat beside the Boy-Who-Lived with dirt on his nose and she still loved him. And although everyone decided he was anything but special, he lived in his house that he loved so and he had his family that he loved


A/N: Short, future fic. Ron and Hermione. Reference to _Lord of the Flies _in it. Thanks to the Eels song of the name for the title. Please R&R, despite the shortness of it. Please!

_Love of the Loveless_

And he was nobody because that was all he thought he could be. And she would stamp her left foot and roll her eyes and tell him he was more than everyone else but less than Harry.

Then he would wake up and realised she had never said such words at all. But everything were true and his gut would twist itself up.

And she loved him because he wasn't anything special, but he was still her Ron. And he loved her because she knew that he was plainer than Harry and the rest of the world and yet she still crawled into his bed at night.

And if he was a Muggle and they were American, they would live in a house with a white-picket fence.

But they were not Muggles and they were not American. So their house was creaky and old and cobwebs lived behind the toilet.

We'll move next year, he always told her and she always half-believed him. But he liked the house and its faults, and she told him it reminded her of him. It was far too large and far too old and was sold to them at a great price, because no body wanted it all. And when he learnt that, he desperately wanted it, because maybe he related to that.

She liked to lie on the floor in front of the window in their bedroom and read Muggle books to him and that was how he spent his weekends. She told him all about Piggy and Jack and Ralph and Simon and he compared Ralph to Harry, Piggy to Neville, Jack to Malfoy and Simon to no one, although she said it was him on his thoughtful days.

And if they were Muggles, they would be the sort of people that listened to New Slang by The Shins over and over again. But he wasn't and never had been. So she sang the song to him while she cooked dinner, so she made sure he got the feeling of what type of people they were.

He would talk of their adventures at Hogwarts often and she would always laugh and tell him it was so long ago and say that he mustn't dwell on the past. I was almost a hero then, he would reply only to his head, because he knew she already knew.

He always hid his hands in his pockets now. They were calloused and clumsy and large and embarrassed him.

She would sing his name to him when ever someone mentioned Harry's, because Harry's name was mentioned far too much. And he was second to Harry and fifth to Charlie and fourth to Bill and third to Percy and second to Fred and George too. And sometimes he was second to Ginny too, because she was first to Harry now.

And it didn't bother him because nothing like that bothered him because he never thought it all through. But it was second nature for him to be Harry's friend, Charlie's brother, Hermione's husband.

Their nights were spent talking about work, teasing about the hairs curling round his ears, listening to their house moan. Harry would visit and sit on their third step on the stairs, where it always shuddered underneath his weight and tell them to move where Ginny and he lived, in a suburb where it was fashionable to have Friday lunches that lasted five hours and have important discussions about the meaning of life.

You would fit right in, Harry would tell Hermione and they would remember Ron. And Hermione would pretend to scowl and call Harry a 'yuppie' and refused to translate that Muggle word to wizard language. And Ron would always offer to move there with her and she would always refuse, because they were better in their old house with dusty corners and he wouldn't survive anywhere else.

Harry would leave and they always felt more relaxed and more important when he wasn't around. Ron boasted how he was head of the household and she just rolled her eyes, just like in his dreams.

Mornings, they dropped Bobby off to their neighbours and Apparated to the Ministry together, their work. He'd leave her in the elevator and be a paper-pusher for hours then he would see her again for lunch. She only tolerated his Quidditch talk at lunch and they would sit in the canteen together and share sandwiches from home. He always said it reminded of him of his first day on the train to Hogwarts eating lollies with Harry and she would giggle and tell him that he had dirt on his nose.

Then he would push more paper and they would return home and pick up Bobby. He liked to sit at the dinner table and listen to Hermione sing. Bobby would climb into his father's lap and ask him about 'Uncle Harry' and she would sing louder and Ron would never reply.

Dinners were smells of pastas and lasagnes and garlic bread and Bobby called her "My little Italian mummy". She scruffed his dark, dark brown hair up always and he always howled with laughter and that was their little life.

And all he did was sit at a desk all day and she remembered occasionally that she had always dreamed of travelling around the world by herself and eventually become a writer and he knew that he was plain and he was average.

She thought that her life was not something a little girl always dreamed of having and he thought that his life wasn't exciting as he wanted it to be but he wasn't suited to an excited life anyway.

Harry and Ginny would drop by and they spoke in a fast-paced way using new colloquiums he hadn't heard before, then he would pride himself on using the word colloquiums and half-wished he had said it out loud.

Bobby would jump around in the air and would always ask Uncle Harry to tell him story and it bothered Ron a bit. Then he noticed that Bobby, with his dark brown inherited from no one, would always listen more when Ron spoke, and it made him think that maybe he was at least first to him.

And Hermione liked to bury her head in to his chest when they slept and he recalled all the times when Hermione walked in a room and all the men's heads swirled towards her and he got a feeling in his chest, because she was with _him_.

And perhaps he was first to her too.

And his life wasn't exciting and neither was he. And he worked as a paper-pusher and he knew Hermione wished she did not have the job she had. And he was never Ron and always Harry's friend or a brother to a more important Weasly or the husband who didn't deserve Hermione. And all he did in his life was go to work, listen to his wife read him Muggle books, and teach Quidditch to his son.

And his life was so ordinary and his life was so plain and he was just Ron and he was just the boy who sat beside the Boy-Who-Lived with dirt on his nose and she still loved him. And although everyone decided he was anything but special, he lived in his house that he loved so and he had his family that he loved so.

They made him feel special. And Ron and Hermione and Bobby lived in their dilapidated home and they lived their ordinary lives and they loved each other and that was all they had.

Hermione would pull his hands out of his pockets and kisses his calluses. Don't hide your hands, she would say to him softly.

It was all he had and it was all he would ever had and he somehow liked it that way.


End file.
